


Looking Up/Down

by WRITINGGLASS



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Drabble, Gen, If you wanna see it that way - Freeform, or at least implied relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WRITINGGLASS/pseuds/WRITINGGLASS
Summary: A brief encounter leaves one irritated, and the other baffled. I don't know how to do these don't sue me.





	Looking Up/Down

While Zaun’s streets were always rather busy, on days when the heavy breeze from the south-east came and cleared the smog-ridden city of its ashy breath, all the more folk came out. 

It was not entirely clear by any means; heavy plumes of the dirty gray smog still rose up between green glass and brass buildings, occasionally casting out the suns gaze. Regardless it was still far clearer than usual. Viktor could count on one hand the days in a year the wind blew so perfectly that it would clear away the smog. 

The highest streets and bridge ways of Zaun were nothing short of bustling. Children and folk disallowed in Piltover took to the streets, some having brought things to sit on and beverages to drink while lavishing in the rarity that was sunlight, nestling against the sides of the bridge walks. Zaunites chatted loudly while their children darted between legs and around bodies in the process of their many games. For some children, this was likely their first time ever seeing the sun. It was so rare to see so many out and so to grow agitated at the liveliness of the street felt wrong, even if it meant Viktor was not getting where he needed to be at any considerable speed.   
For an hour now the Herald had been attempting to weave and move around the busy streets and alleyways, trying to make his way to visit a client about hex tech crystals he had ordered some time ago and to discuss work surrounding them. Viktor knew well enough he was late as it was, and could only hope that the client would understand his tardiness given the nature of the day. 

Despite the warm kiss of the sun along the bridge, cold breezes still tore through and across them, whisking away the warmth at a moments notice. It made it all the more justifable for the strange man to be bundled within his cloak, hiding his augmentations and metal armor from prying eyes. While augmentations were by no means abnormal or unaccepted in Zaun, ones of such high-make and craftsmanship were sure to draw more attention than he desired. The only downfall to wearing the hood was that the wind, when blowing just right liked to tear it right off of his head.

A sudden flurry down the bridge sent children reeling in their play, and various belongings and paper flying, including Viktor’s hood, blowing it clear off of his head. A had moved quickly to snatch it before it blew off entirely, the metal fingers tugging it back over his head, though not before he caught a view of something in his peripheral  
Far above the crowded bridge way, one adjacent to Piltover looked much the same; busy with people. Though for vastly different reasons as Viktor was soon to learn.

Far above the brass city, though not so far as to make it impossible to make out those who busily moved along the bridge, was a crowd of what appeared to be a mix of reporters and cameramen. A multitude of flashes flickering across the crowd as police worked to keep the man that the newsfolk desperately wished photos of safe.

Viktor nearly dismissed it; it was likely some famous scholar, or a high ranking clans member who must have recently done something political n the city above that had their fascination. Before Viktor could dismiss the scenario entirely, something painfully familiar caught his attention.

A god damn **hex-tech hammer**.

Behind the mask, eyes narrowed as a bitter flavor begun to mingle in the man’s mouth, eyes slowly trailed from the hammer to the wielder who proudly held-fast to the weapon, chin upwards and striking eyes cast over the crowd. Always had to be the best for those he cared so little about. Neatly combed hair, the obnoxious coat-

_ **Jayce.** _

An interview was being done. Likely impromptu, but Jayce was participating nevertheless, answering questions from a young woman who stood before him. He looked thrilled. The Hero of Piltover.

_The Hero of Piltover._

Fingers tightened around the hex-core, though not from jealousy – certainly not. Viktor had no desire to stand before flashing camera’s and see his face printed all over newspaper. The bitterness turned into disgust that trickled through his body, turning his stomach into knots.

A man glorified and put upon a pedestal all build upon lies and misunderstandings. All layered in gold leaf to make it appeal Piltover. Half-truths painted in gold and white; that’s all the city above was. Aesthetically appealing falsehoods.  
And there Jayce stood, a pinnacle of it all, answering questions that were likely all pre-planned out to appeal, to match the words that Piltover wished to hear. To keep him there, to keep him their hero.

Viktor wished he could merely reach up and tear it all down, watch all of Jayce and his ‘heroic’ deeds spill into the vicious waters below just as Jayce did him. To watch him struggle as the black depths and the churning waves swallow Jayce down just as it did him. And he could walk away, just as Jayce did before.

Viktor swallowed, the hair along the back of his neck prickling. His heart was thrashing with a frustration deep within his chest.

Or perhaps he’d let him stand in silence upon the bridge. Watch him learn what he had lost, and what he had failed to realize come to being. Lose the crowd, lose the sudden interest. Lose it all.

That would do just as well.

Another gale tore across the bridge, though far stronger than the last. It sent Viktor’s cloak billowing, tearing his attention from the view overhead, as if it were a reminder he had other things that needed to be tended to. Jayce did not deserve his time. Not now.

Fixing his cloak once more Viktor continued across the bridge way, head lowered and moving quicker now as if to put as much distance between him and the Hero as he could. Only one more fleeting look back was offered, though now his view was tarnished by a rise of smog that cascaded half of the view. But the hammer and sharp eyes still stood out. The smile.

_I wonder if you ever look down and think of what you’ve done._  


* * *

  
“… and what are your thoughts on that, Jayce?” The interviewer prodded as she leaned forward with her head tilted to the side in an attempt to hear the man’s words over the ruckus of the crowd behind her, pen to a paper pad as she eagerly awaited his response.

But she’d not get it. A sudden gust (courtesy of the terrible offshore wind) sent her hair flying and papers fluttering from the crowd down towards the city below. Jayce’s eyes wandered along after one that flitted past him.

Yes, the attention was nice if not boring. Tedious questions from equally tedious individuals was not how he desired to spend his days, though it could not be helped. It could never be helped these days. Jayce wanted nothing more to squander himself back into his laboratory, to tinker and create, but the public had desires and thoughts of their own and with his new-found position in the hierarchy of the public eye. And he had to conform, at least to some degree.

Due to the uninterested nature of the ever-busy mind of the creator, Jayce’s gaze followed the paper downwards, following its decline to the city below silently amused at it’s much more intriguing nature than that of the woman across from him. Even the ‘fascinating’ papers interest waned at something far more interesting down below.

His skin prickled, and not because the press was watching him. A far more familiar gaze fell upon him, and he knew it was not from the crowd of reporters.

Gaze tore away from the paper and to the bridge below that was filled with Zaunites of all sort in their attempt to soak up some of the rare sun. Jayce had little interest in that of generic Zaunites and their offensive fashion. For the moment the call of the press and of the interviewing woman seemed distant, distant –silent. Silent as he focused down below.

Orange eyes. Glowing orange eyes – but only a flash.

The feeling vanished as soon as the eyes disappeared into the cloak that hid the features of the individual as they turned away. The chill of familiarity vanished with the view of the city, hidden once more by the thick ugly smog that billowed around it.

“ — Jayce? Jayce are you well…Sir? You’re holding your hammer with such a tight grip-”

A thin hand grasped at his wrist, immediately drawing Jayce out of his stupor. Blue eyes readjusted and sound rushed back to Jayce, reminding him of where he was and what was going on. A few blinks and the man turned back, focusing back upon the young interviewer who was already being ushered back into the crowd due to her attempt at contact with Jayce. What had she said?

His hammer?...

It didn’t take Jayce more than a moment to notice the grasp upon his hammer. Beneath the glove, he could feel how tense he had become. The leather was drawn taught and creaking at the grip and his thumb had feverishly begun to trace over the shaft of it. His lips drew thin and his eyes cast down, loosening his hand and adjusting it to stop his uneasy movement. He drew the hammer closer to his person.

“I need to get going. We’re done here.”

A slight uproar was heard from the unsatisfied crowd of reporters, all equally upset and frustrated at their sudden dismissal. Certainly it was not the ideal thing to perhaps do, but Jayce could also not find it in him to care. The sensations from moments ago crawled under his skin, haunting at his very bones and he needed to be away from here. From it.

A final baffled gaze was offered down towards the city, hidden by smog once more. 

_It can’t be you… Could it? You’re supposed to be dead._  



End file.
